The Crash
by AAmuse
Summary: Pre-TOS. During his first post-graduation posting, Spock goes through an unexpected ordeal. Character piece.
1. 1 The Crash

**Disclaimer**: Star Trek characters belong to Paramount.

**Author's note**: This is not a direct sequel to _Expanding the Oecumene_, but it follows its events chronologically. The events described here happen during Spock's first post-Academy assignment.

**Beta**: Thank you, Cuppy. All mistakes are mine.

**Codes/Rating**: S, Drama/General, **R**

**Summary**: Pre-TOS. During his first post-graduation posting, Spock goes through an unexpected ordeal. Character piece.

'

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**The Crash**

By

Anna Amuse

--

**1. The Crash**

--

He raised his head slowly, feeling a thousand of miniscule drills boring into his temples, the stinging pain eating at him with gusto. He coughed, trying to refill his lungs with oxygen, but all that was available was an overpowering nauseating cocktail of smoke and burnt. He pushed off the ground, the motion bringing the realization that he had been lying flat on his stomach. Slowly, he came to his feet, his body obeying his commands, but he didn't quite feel it. He looked around and saw only fire and piles of banged up metal. Somewhere nearby a baby was crying with heartbreaking abandon. That was when it came back to him.

The crash.

Spock blinked several times, trying to extinguish the burning sensation in his eyes, assaulted by the smoke. Everywhere he looked were the remains of the shuttle, pieces of the passengers' luggage and body parts.

_…_

"_Spock, where the hell do you think you're going?"_

"_I wish to explain to the captain that his piloting style is unacceptable. He is carrying twenty-six passengers, and we are getting dangerously close to the meteor stream. The safety protocols—"_

"_Spock, sit back down this instant. This is a civilian shuttle, for heaven's sake. The captain knows this space, he knows what he's doing. If I had a girlfriend like that, I'd probably be showing off, too."_

"_But this is—"_

"_I said, sit down before you made us both look like idiots. That's an order."_

_…_

He didn't have time to comply, Spock remembered vaguely. The meteor rain hit them. The pilot lost control in seconds. Spock, who wasn't even in his seat never mind using seat belt, was thrown flying across the passenger compartment along with bags and whatever people were holding in their hands. He remembered the screaming and the haze, but he was already one inch away from unconscious by the moment of impact.

He looked around, fighting the disorientation. From the looks of it, he was thrown out of the shuttle when it hit the ground. Fortunately perhaps, he reflected numbly as a series of small explosions erupted in the remains of the main compartment. The baby wailed louder, and that had finally prompted Spock to action. He staggered towards the burning debris.

"If anyone can hear me, call for help," he said hoarsely, trying to make himself be heard. As stupid as the procedure seemed when he studied it, he knew it must be done. "If anyone can hear me..."

A muffled sound came from one of the mounts of burnt plastic and ripped metal. Spock rushed over there and helped a man out. He looked completely dazed.

"Sir, are you in pain?"

The man looked at Spock without any hint of coherent thought. But he was standing, if somewhat shakily, and Spock concluded his injuries could not be life threatening.

"Sir, you need to clear this area, it is not safe."

No reaction.

"Can you hear me?"

A blink.

"Wha-what?"

Spock took him by the elbow gently but firmly and turned him around, away from the remains of the shuttle.

"Do you see that hill?" Spock pointed at the nearest altitudes. "I need you to go there and wait. Do you understand?"

The man was seemingly trying to focus.

"Sir?" Spock's tone became slightly impatient. There could be other survivors here. "Do you understand?"

At last, the man nodded and moved awkwardly towards the spot Spock had pointed at. Spock left him to it, immediately returning his attention to the debris field. He felt quite shaky himself, but being a Vulcan, he could not afford to submit to it. He had mastered the techniques that made his body obey whether it was inclined to or not. That human didn't have such an edge.

Attracted by a strange sound, Spock walked around one of the major pieces of the shuttle and nearly stumbled over another human. He was sitting on the ground, clutching his head in his hands and making a deep humming sound. He looked up, and Spock flinched. It was Wilson.

"Spock..." the Lieutenant muttered dimly.

…

"_Ensign, I'm tired sick of watching you showing off. You think you're smarter than any of us, fine. Keep __it to yourself, if it's not too much of a bother, would you?"_

"_I merely pointed out that the young lady was in error—"_

"_Spock! I want to be very clear on this. I could give a damn."_

"_Sir?"_

"_Just—shut up, okay? You're scaring everyone off. I had to put up with you for two full days and I've just about had it. Consider yourself under orders not to speak unless spoken to."_

"_I believe we are off duty."_

"_No, we're not! At least, you're not. Why don't you go calculate something... somewhere? A few hours would do nicely. Don't hurry back. Now dash!"_

…

Spock leaned forward slightly.

"Sir, are you injured?"

Wilson shook his head and immediately groaned.

"Either we landed on a galloping pitch or... I got a concussion."

He took the hand Spock offered him and together they pulled him upright. Immediately, the human swayed, and Spock grabbed his shoulders to steady him.

"I'm okay," Wilson muttered. "Just a little dizzy. It'll pass."

"Sir—" Spock started to protest, but Wilson's look silenced him.

It was most peculiar, this mute communication that had passed between them at that moment. They were no longer an annoyed human and an annoying Vulcan. No longer a life-of-the-party and a sourpuss forced into each other's company. They were two Starfleet officers in the middle of a force majeure situation involving a number of civilians and consequently automatically in charge of it. It didn't matter that they were only an ensign and a j.g. lieutenant. While Jerry Wilson felt undoubtedly better at ease with any of the shuttle passengers before the crash, right now Spock was the only other person who spoke his language, even though it involved little actual speaking. He knew the Vulcan was reading him perfectly.

The two of them were on one side and everyone else on the other.

"God, I'm sick," Wilson groaned, still very dazed. He looked back at the biggest piece of the passenger compartment that remained intact. "I feel like throwing up just looking at it," he admitted. "Can you check in there? I'll try to see if there's anyone left out here. And find that child."

"Yes, sir," Spock nodded, but he hesitated still, for the moment he let go of Wilson, the Lieutenant reeled nearly tripping over.

"Go, for heaven's sake," Wilson waved at him, forcing himself to stay on his feet. "I'll be fine."

Spock complied. The passenger compartment was filled with acrid smoke and smothery heat, radiating from what appeared to be everywhere. In the uneven, flickering light of fires, Spock made his way through the horrific exhibition of twisted metal and melted plastic. He looked inside the pilot's cabin and was hard-pressed not to back away immediately. Blood was everywhere. The pilot lay sprawled all over the control panel, arms and legs stretched beyond what a humanoid body could endure. His beautiful companion, who wasn't quite so beautiful anymore, was on the floor, covered in pieces of plastic and plexiglass that had cut right trough her. Spock remembered her silvery laughter from seemingly just moments ago and had to suppress a shiver, suddenly very grateful for his Vulcan training.

He withdrew, turning his attention to what used to be a comfortable passenger cabin. He crossed two destroyed sections, coughing at the violent smoke attack, and nearly stumbled over the baby.

In a mock manifestation of the triumph of child-safety protocols properly engaged, the baby was still sitting in its special chair, held in place by soft but obviously effective restraints, encased in a shimmering bubble of forcefield, maintaining breathable atmosphere within. The child was red-faced from crying and was tugging at the restraints stubbornly, its head whirling around in a desperate attempt to locate its mother.

Spock frowned, trying to remember. There was a woman on board, a quiet, tired-looking woman in her late thirties. She was accompanied by a teenage girl, and they had a baby. Spock looked around, waving the smoke off, if only for a few seconds, ignoring the continuing assault the baby's crying was making on his ears. The baby was in no immediate danger, the others might have been. He located the woman in a moment, curled up under the remaining seats at the opposite wall. Her head was smashed brutally, obviously having collided with a sharp object of some kind. Dead on impact.

Suddenly, a muffled noise came from a pile of debris on the other side of the passageway. Spock's head snapped up sharply, and the next second he was already on his knees in front of the heap, helping someone to get from under it. It was the same girl he remembered. Coughing and breathing raggedly, she emerged with his help from the floor, shaking. Her eyes were swollen and red, irritated by the smoke. She glanced at Spock wildly, clearly disoriented.

"Can you stand, Miss?"

She looked up at him as if at a loss to figure out what he was asking. Her gaze slid over to the woman, and she whimpered hysterically.

"Mrs. Sana... oh, no."

She made a move as if to go to her, but Spock's hands kept her in place firmly.

"We need to clear this area," he spoke right into her ear. "Do you understand? I must check for other survivors. Can you take the baby?"

"What?" she looked at him, no more coherent than a moment ago, but then the sound registered and a miracle happened.

Amazed, Spock watched the momentary transformation of her expression. Only just she was a shocked, dazed, frightened young girl with no idea of what was going on around her. As the baby's crying sank in, she suddenly straightened, pushed Spock away with force that surprised him and rushed toward the wailing child. She deactivated the forcefield before Spock could say anything, and picked up the baby into her arms, clutching it to her with crushing strength of protectiveness. She looked over at Spock almost accusingly.

As the child immediately began to cough, Spock didn't spare time for questions. He took the girl by the elbow and pulled her towards the exit quickly, then simply lifted her over the sharp-edged piece of the hull and put her on the ground, pushing lightly in the direction of the distant hill. She started for it instantly, never looking back.

Somewhat relieved, Spock returned to his gruesome task. It appeared, however, that his luck had run out. There was no one else alive inside the ruined cabin. Only bodies. Only when he allowed himself to finally acknowledge that fact and left the remains of the shuttle, did it become clear how profound an effect the polluted atmosphere inside had had on him. As foul as the smell outside was, it was still a relief to breathe.

Looking around meticulously and listening intently in case someone was missed, Spock moved slowly toward the altitude he had sent the survivors to. He knew Wilson would have directed anyone he found there, too, as it was the only logical place to gather and wait. He wasn't mistaken. The Lieutenant walked over toward him, still looking groggy and shaken, but controlling his body's reactions tightly.

"Anyone else?"

Spock shook his head.

"No, sir."

"That makes nine, including you and me," Wilson told him and Spock couldn't suppress a wince. The shuttle passenger manifest read twenty-six plus the pilot. "That man over there has a serious head trauma," Wilson pointed at an elderly human, lying on the ground, moaning unceasingly. "The girl you found has a couple of ribs cracked or broken, I'm not sure. The Tellarite has a broken arm. The rest seem... intact." He grimaced at the word. "More or less, anyway."

Spock looked over the shivering, coughing people, sitting awkwardly on the ground, some close to each other, some deliberately away. The girl still held the baby tightly in her hands; the child seemed to be asleep, lulled by the comforting touch. The pain emanating from the group was so thick, one could almost see it. These people were anything but intact.

"Did you find the transceiver?" Wilson asked, knowing Spock would have checked for it.

"Yes. It's inoperable."

"Any possibility of repair?"

Spock looked at him.

"The transmitter coil is smashed."

Wilson pursed his lips.

"I see. Well then. I guess we're on our own. Where do you think we are?"

Spock frowned slightly, concentrating on recalling the last minutes of their flight.

"We passed the asteroid belt and Barmina's first moon. I believe it is safe to assume we landed on the second."

"Not the third?" Wilson asked dubiously. "I think we spent more time than it would have taken to reach the second moon."

"I believe not, sir," Spock said quietly, making sure Wilson was the only one who heard him. "If you recall, the pilot had spent a considerable amount of time... maneuvering. There is one other consideration."

"Starfleet outpost on the third moon?" Wilson asked and Spock nodded. "I guess you're right. They would have been here by now had they picked us up on their sensors, and they would have if we crash-landed on their heads."

"Indeed."

"Come to think of it, they should have picked us up anyway," the Lieutenant frowned and looked up in the sky as if in hopes of seeing a descending ship.

"Not necessarily," Spock shook his head. "Gravimetric distortions in this system are considerable, and the equipment they are using is at least twenty years old. They might have taken us for a meteor."

"Aren't you a bloody ray of sunshine," Wilson grunted, rubbing at his temples. "I seem to remember something peculiar about this system," he said in a subdued cracking voice. "Something about the rotation period of the planets and moons." He looked up at Spock. "Something nasty."

"An emotional term, but apt in regard to our current situation," Spock said. "These moons have a forty-nine hour cycle of rotation, if I recall correctly." He glanced at the pale horizon. "We are entering day time I believe. The temperature will rise up to fifty-five degrees Celsius."

"Ouch. Hot, but we'll live."

"That is not why the moon was labeled class L," Spock told him. "At night the temperature will fall to minus seventy."

Wilson simply looked at him. Then, he turned over to survey the survivors. They were all watching the two of them, obvious anxiety and fear in their eyes. The Lieutenant sighed, returning his gaze to the Vulcan.

"Well then, Ensign. I guess we'd better find a way to get out of here before the night comes."

Involuntarily, Spock glanced back at the destroyed shuttle. It was fortunate that as a Vulcan he did not believe in bad omens. The sight was far from encouraging, just like the odds against them. He swallowed the words ready to spring from his lips determinedly and followed the Lieutenant towards the others.


	2. 2 The Disaster

--

**2. The Disaster**

--

Early midday in this place was close to the description of the proverbial human hell. Alone in the blazing sun, Spock was climbing the sturdy old cliff in hopes of obtaining a better view of the terrain. The rest of their regrettably small party remained below, trying to hide in the almost non-existent shade between the rocks.

Spock reached out wearily and wiped the thin veil of sweat off his forehead. Contrary to what his companions believed, he did not revel in this kind of heat any more than they did. He was simply better suited to withstand it. The atmosphere was much thinner than even that of Vulcan, whereas the gravity was considerably lighter than Earth's standard, making him constantly queasy. However, since it was almost the only factor that prevented the humans from dying of exhaustion, Spock was grateful for it, illogical as the feeling was.

Already the moon's conditions and lack of medical help were taking their toll. The man who had received a head trauma was still unconscious, and at this rate, the permanent coma was almost inevitable. Vaz, the Tellarite who broke his arm in the crash, was delirious, from the infection or the heat, no one was sure. Wilson's nausea overwhelmed him several times, confirming his diagnosis and making him even more dehydrated than the rest of them. The baby was running a fever.

It had been only six hours since the crash, Spock realized with a tingling sense of uneasiness. They were not doing well. At this rate, their chances even to live long enough to face the sunset were slim at best. And then, the cold would certainly kill them.

He had finally reached the ridge and narrowed his eyes looking around. It was a hostile world indeed, with no other vegetation than flat purple moss that was obviously too stubborn to die. Everywhere Spock looked, he could only see stone sand and rare white rocks, seemingly growing from the ground, like dragon teeth in an old Earth legend. The thin atmosphere made the sky cobalt blue, with a blinding spot of sun still on the growing side of zenith. It was a spectacular vista in its own strange way, but it was completely lifeless.

Dead. This was a dead world.

His communicator beeped softly, startling Spock. How long had he been simply standing here, gazing over this empty shell of a planet? A most regrettable slip for a Vulcan.

"Spock here."

"Ensign. Any luck?" Wilson sounded tired and groggy.

"There might be something at the distance, sir," Spock reported, focusing on the ridge that had caught his attention. "But nothing nearby."

"Understood. Get back down, I need your help."

"Aye, sir."

He would have been hard pressed to admit it, but his step lightened considerably as he started down. Normally, Vulcans enjoyed periods of solitude, and Spock had even more reasons to do so than most, but on this world, he longed for company. Any company, in fact. There was something distinctly disquieting in this overwhelming silence. Humans would have probably called it creepy. Spock quickened his pace without noticing.

As he approached the crude tent they had made from pieces of their clothing, several heads turned in his direction, but no one moved. Now that the initial shock had worn off and the rescue still didn't come, people were starting to act strangely. Spock tightened his shields unconsciously, feeling the strain mount up. He walked directly to where Wilson was sitting on the edge of the shadow, looking at his open communicator and drawing something on the ground. As Spock crouched at his side, the Lieutenant looked up at him.

"Report," he said quietly.

"There may be a cave system at approximately twenty kilometers from here," Spock told him just as softly. "If any water is to be found on this planet, it would be deep beneath the surface."

"A spring of some kind?" Wilson licked his dry lips unconsciously. He was looking decidedly unwell.

"No," Spock shook his head. "Everywhere we were, we only saw the same stone solid beneath the sand. It stands to reason that this moon was originally a piece of an asteroid."

"Just a rock," Wilson whispered. "A solid rock, nothing more."

"It does support atmosphere," Spock contradicted him gently. "With such large difference between night and day temperatures, there must be an ample amount of water condensing on the rock surface every morning and night. If you recall, Ms. Dale—"

"Yes, she slipped when we set off from the crash site!" Wilson interrupted him excitedly.

"Because the stone she stepped on was wet," Spock confirmed.

The Lieutenant's face fell.

"But there's nothing there now." He ran his fingers through the hot sand. "It all evaporates in this heat."

"Correct," Spock nodded, watching the human warily. He didn't like what he was seeing at all. "That is why I submit that only within a deep cavern we could have any hope of finding water that survived the day."

"Twenty kilometers?" Wilson looked at him sharply. Then his gaze slid over their exhausted, hurt, frightened party. "Spock, none of them would ever make it. We're not all desert dwellers like you. We're barely breathing as it is. And it's only going to get hotter."

"I was going to suggest I make the trip alone," Spock said cautiously. "I could fill the canisters we brought, and—"

"What are you two whispering about?"

Both Spock and Wilson stared at the man who came over without either of them noticing. It was the same man Spock helped from the wreckage after the crash, Mr. Federico Stanza. Spock didn't need his telepathic senses to know that the man was angry. He was a short, balding human on the fair side of sixty.

"We are discussing the situation, Mr. Stanza," Wilson said, straightening up with difficulty.

"What's to discuss?" the man snorted in disgust. "You Starfleet, you are so knowledgeable, so _competent_, why don't you stop _discussing_ and do something to get us off this planet?"

"There is nothing we can do to do that immediately, sir," Spock said evenly, coming to his feet. He could hear a vague whisper from the others, but ignored it.

"And why not?" Stanza stepped closer to him, hands on his hips. "You're supposed to be the best of the best. Not bright enough to set up a smoke signal?"

"Sir, we are working on the problem," Spock told him. "There is no need to become agitated."

"_Working on the problem_?" Stanza spat the words in his face. "_Working on the problem_? Are you fucking kidding me? What are you—a damned maintenance team who came to repair my replicator? I paid for my ticket on that goddamned shuttle! I pay my taxes! I'm entitled for a little service for all the trouble, don't you think? You work for the government—so why the hell don't you do something?"

Involuntarily, Spock glanced back at Wilson, as if asking for help. The utter illogic of what the man was saying was far beyond his comprehension. But the Lieutenant looked as if he was about to faint, his face was contorted in pain, as he pressed his hand to his forehead.

"We're doing... everything we can..." he said slowly and hoarsely.

"Really?" Stanza advanced another step. "I can't see you're doing anything. You just sit there, staring at this blasted thing, while your pointy-eared pal wanders around like he's on a goddamned excursion!"

"Sir, you need to step back," Spock said rigidly, blocking Stanza's way before he could reach Wilson.

"Oh yeah? And why is that?" Stanza took another step forward and pushed Spock roughly in the chest. "What are you afraid of, Starfleet? Are you talking about something the rest of us can't hear? Huh?" He pushed the Vulcan again. "Planning to leave us here, by any chance? What do you say to that?"

"That it is an illogical and absurd notion," Spock replied coolly, trying to maintain his composure. "Please return to your place."

"My place is two parsecs from here!" Stanza roared. "And if I could go back there, I wouldn't be standing here trying to talk some sense into you! Or you!" He whirled on to Wilson, looming over him, like a storm cloud. "You're all worthless idiots in your goddamned Starfleet! It's because of you we ended up in this godforsaken place, and now we're stuck here! All those people who died! And you just sit here, _drawing pictures_, like nothing happened!"

Whether or not Wilson was going to reply they never found out, because the next moment Stanza's eyes rolled back and closed, and then he slumped to the ground, raising a small cloud of dust as he went. Stunned silence ensued, as the Lieutenant looked up to see Spock standing where Stanza had been, one hand still outstretched. Wilson had heard of the Vulcan nerve pinch, but he had never seen one performed in front of him. With difficulty, he cleared his throat.

"So that's what you do when your logic doesn't work?"

Spock was looking no less stupefied by his own actions than the rest of them.

"He was irrational..." he muttered weakly. "The heat must have been... affecting him."

"Looks like it's affecting all of us," the Lieutenant commented dryly. "He'll be all right?"

"Yes," Spock nodded, getting a grip on himself. "He will be unconscious for approximately an hour."

"Maybe it's better this way," Wilson muttered under his breath. "Come on, let's move him further into the shade."

"I do not require assistance," Spock shook his head quickly.

He picked up the bulky human and deposited him between two reclined rocks. He couldn't help noticing the way the others seemed to back away from him as he approached. Spock could feel their wary gazes following his every move. They were talking softly before the row began. Now no one seemed to be willing to say anything. He straightened up and looked at them, but couldn't think of anything to tell them. The moment his eyes rested on someone, that person seemed to shrink, as if trying to evade an attack. The sight disturbed him greatly, but he didn't know what to do about it.

"Spock," Wilson called him softly.

Stiffly, Spock walked back to Wilson, resuming his position on the ground at his side. Wilson caught his eye and shook his head quietly. He spoke then, louder than before, letting his voice carry slightly.

"I've been thinking. I believe we can use our communicators to make a crude transceiver. Of course, it won't be as effective as the real one, but it can still boost up our signal."

Spock frowned dubiously. The thought had occurred to him, too, but he did not believe it to be viable.

"Sir, I am not certain our communicators could be combined in this way," he said cautiously. "And if we dismantle them, we may be impeding what little chance we have to be detected from orbit."

"Don't you think I know that?" Wilson hissed irritably. "It's either doing that or doing nothing. In case you've forgotten we only got about seventeen hours left. Those of us who don't die of thirst by then will freeze to death. If we combine them, we may be able to signal a passing ship."

Spock looked at him strangely. The possibility of a ship passing through this sector in the extremely small timeframe they had, more than that, a ship having its sensors turned on full in this well-charted region of space, away from main traffic, but too well-known to look for surprises, was so low, it could be counted as negligible. Spock had never heard of two communicators being used in this manner, but even if they could be, he was fairly certain the signal would not be strong enough to leave the system.

"I do not possess technical skills required for an operation of that sort," Spock said quietly.

"Then give me your communicator, I'll do it," Wilson told him grudgingly.

Spock studied him fixedly. The Lieutenant did not look well. His head seemed to be unwilling to remain in one position, moving restlessly in small swaying motions. His hands were quivering. Spock caught one and pressed his thumb into the center of Wilson's palm.

"What the devil are you doing?" the human demanded, staring at him.

Spock concentrated for another moment, then let go of him.

"Sir, you are running a high fever. It is not advisable for you to engage in any sort of delicate operation right now."

"Just give me the damned communicator," Wilson snapped. "You were going to fetch us some water anyway. Come on, Spock," he added, seeing that the Vulcan still hesitated. "If Starfleet comes looking for us, they'll scan for biosigns. Anyone else, well..."

Their eyes locked, and Spock could sense the effort Wilson was making to even maintain eye contact. But the very fact that he was making it spoke volumes.

"I need to do something," Wilson whispered. "I _need_ to."

Silently, Spock handed him the communicator. He rose up to his feet and went in search of the empty canisters they took from the shuttle when they left. He wasn't going to watch the Lieutenant struggle with the sensitive devices. He didn't want to watch.

The humans looked at him warily as he bent over to pick up the tanks. Spock ignored them. Having no hope of understanding their emotions, he wanted to minimize exposure as best he could. His head was beginning to ache, and if anything could be called supremely unhealthy for a Vulcan, that was it. Obviously, maintaining his shields in this environment and under these circumstances was much more draining than he imagined.

A hand closed suddenly around his wrist, and he winced, startled. _'What is wrong with me?'_ he thought in frustration. _'I can no longer control!'_ He schooled his expression to impassivity resolutely and straightened up to see that it was the girl he had found inside the shuttle. Spock struggled with the impulse to snatch his hand free and extricated it gently instead.

"Take me with you," the girl said quietly.

"That is impossible," Spock replied at once without thinking. "You will not survive."

"Sure I will," she said, tilting up her chin defiantly. "But he won't."

Spock followed her gaze and looked at the baby, curled up on his blanket on the hot sand.

"Ms. Dale—"

"He needs water," she snapped. "He'll die if he doesn't get some soon. He won't have the time to wait till you get back. It's too long."

"We may not find any water," Spock told her softly.

"I know. But if we do, we'll save him. Imagine you'd go and find it, and he dies before you can bring him some. What then?"

Spock looked at the baby again, knowing the chances were slim either way. But he couldn't deny that there was certain logic in what she was suggesting.

"I will take him," he said.

"No, you won't," the girl snapped crossly. "You wouldn't even hold him when he was crying. I won't give him to you. I'll carry him myself."

"There is no logic in risking your life as well—"

"I can stand a little heat. I'm going," she said. "That's final."

He frowned at such childish defiance.

"If your ribs are broken, you will not even make the trip yourself, much less carry him."

"You don't know they're broken," she retorted. "I feel fine."

He studied her for a moment longer, than gestured toward the closest flat rock.

"Let us find out then. Lie down."

She looked at him, startled. Spock raised an eyebrow in silent challenge. She puffed indignantly, but obeyed, stretching on the reclining stone, hissing as the heat seared through her and watching Spock warily. Realizing she wasn't going to cooperate, he reached to pull up her t-shirt enough to expose the lower part of her rib cage. She watched him, eyes wide, without interfering, but the moment his hands touched her skin, she squirmed and pushed him away.

"Hey! The deal was you'd only look!"

If Spock were human, he would have rolled his eyes. As it was, he allowed a small sigh to escape him.

"Ms. Dale, my eyes are not equipped with an X-ray scanner. I need to touch you. I promise I will not hurt you."

A dry laughter came from behind, and both Spock and the girl turned to look at the woman who approached them.

"My, what a sight," she drawled, eyeing them both. Her gaze finally rested on Spock, and she cocked her head with a slow lingering smile. "Is the little Miss playing hard to get? Tat, tat, should have none of that when we'll be dying so soon. Maybe you'd like to play doctor with me instead?"

Far from remotely comprehending her meaning, Spock held his questions as he looked into her eyes. The insane, utterly mad glimmer in them made him shiver. Those weren't the eyes of a human being, but what they were he found difficult to define.

"Mary, stop it," another woman said, clasping her hand and tugging her back. They were sisters, Spock recalled vaguely. "Come, sit down. Let them be. She's not feeling well," she explained to Spock, as if it wasn't obvious. But whispering something soothing into her sister's ear, she led her away, for which he was grateful.

Turning back to the girl, Spock looked her in the eye squarely.

"I will not hurt you. Tell me the moment you feel the pain."

She bit her lip and nodded. Carefully, he placed his hands on her sides, ignoring the way she seemed to shrink from his touch, and traced the bone lines gently. Everything seemed fine, until he reached the lowest rib. The girl gasped. Spock's eyes flew up to her face instantly.

"Does it hurt when I press here?"

"Yes," she nodded. "But... not that much."

"I would ask you to be patient," he said, as his fingers followed the apparently abused tissue.

She hissed through gritted teeth, but otherwise remained still. Spock let go of her suddenly.

"I do not believe your ribs are broken," he told her, once she looked at him. "But there definitely is a fracture. Hold still, I will look for something to help you."

She watched him silently, as he tore a piece of cloth from the cloak, serving as their roof. He came back to her side, and she drew a shattering breath.

"It will hurt, won't it?" she asked in a slightly quivering voice.

"You will feel better when it is done," he assured. "Are you ready?"

She nodded, clenching her hands into fists. He tied the crude corset hard enough to prevent further strain on the fractured bone, but so that she wouldn't have additional trouble breathing.

"Thanks," she exhaled when he was done. "Can we go now?"

Spock turned around to look at Wilson, who was muttering incoherently to himself as he bent over two opened communicators; at the unconscious and immobile man, lying two feet away from him; at the delirious Tellarite, who was rocking in the sand slightly, fighting the immense overheat; at the unconscious Stanza; at two women holding each other and whispering softly.

"Yes," he said quietly. "Yes, we can go."

And if they could not make it back in a few hours, they might not bother coming back at all.


	3. 3 The Walk

--

**3. The Walk**

--

"So, Mister. How come two Starfleet officers were on a civilian shuttle?"

Spock gave his companion a sidelong look, quietly measuring up her condition. They had been walking for half an hour and had only covered two point three kilometers. That was the first time the girl spoke, apart from her continuous refusal to allow him to carry the baby. She readjusted the blanket she tied around her neck and back to create a cradle and shot a glance at Spock, which he couldn't immediately interpret. It almost felt as if she was asking him for something. Perhaps the conversation would alleviate her hardship. The heat was searing.

"We were headed back to our ship," he said. "It is currently in orbit around Centauri Prime. The Captain had sent us to Fellipse to procure some equipment. There was only one Starfleet shuttle leaving the planet at the time suitable for us to make the rendezvous, and it was full. Lieutenant Wilson suggested we send our equipment with it and board the civilian transport ourselves."

"Really. I thought Starfleet was above those things. Couldn't your captain have given you a shuttle?"

Spock felt the corner of his mouth twitch in an ironic smile. He checked the reaction.

"The ship I serve on is not a big vessel, Ms. Dale. It does not carry shuttles of its own."

"Don't call me that," she said, wiping the sweat streaming down her temples. "I feel like I'm back in the principal's office. It's Arina."

Spock felt it would not be reasonable to argue.

"As you wish."

"So it's a small ship, huh?" she asked, readjusting the blanket again.

"It has a complement of forty-two."

"And what's it doing? I mean, what's its mission?"

"It is a vessel of the so called Sector Zero patrol," Spock said. "Its mission is to monitor the known space objects of this area of space and constantly update the information. It also serves as a supply vessel between the closest to Earth starbases."

"How exciting," she muttered sarcastically. "And you're what, some kind of requisitions officer?"

Spock had to submerge another bolt of amusement.

"Not exactly. I serve as an assistant science officer."

"Science?" she looked up at him and grimaced. "You're any good at it?"

"My superiors find my work to be adequate."

"What's your specialty?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well, it sounds very pompous when you say it like that, 'I'm a science officer'," she mimicked. "But it doesn't mean you're really all that cool. You may turn out to be a bug studier or something."

"And that is not preferable?"

She looked at him as if she thought he was mad.

"To study bugs? That's disgusting!"

"Entomology is a respectable field of study. I fail to see—"

"Yes, yes, yes, I know. So are you?"

"Am I what?"

"A bug studier."

"Not as such. I have several different 'specialties' as you put it."

"Name some."

"Astrophysics."

"Cool," she grimaced. "What else?"

"Computer science."

"And?"

"Warp theory. Temporal mechanics. Exobiology."

"You're doing this on purpose?"

"I do not understand."

Arina sighed deeply.

"You've just named all the subjects I'm abysmal at. Well, except for temporal mechanics. I do remember that if you're thrown into the past you can't allow your other self to see you or the universe will collapse."

Spock couldn't help a faint smile.

"_That_ is a myth."

"They showed us that in _Temporal Flux_!"

"Excuse me?"

"That's a movie, you silly head."

"Ah. That explains it. I am not particularly fond of that form of entertainment."

"Well, that's dumb. You didn't see _Lost in Derana_ then, did you? They had crashed there, too, but they were saved by the dragon prince and his people. They brought them food, and water, and everything, and the only catch was—they wanted them to stay."

Spock shook his head slightly at the irrational story.

"That is precisely why I dislike your fiction films. Too many things are done merely for plot convenience. Including putting some very erroneous ideas into the viewers' minds."

Arina smirked wryly.

"You should have seen the holo-effects."

"Thank you, I prefer observing natural phenomena."

"Your loss," she said, stopping to catch her breath. "Dragon prince or no, if anyone offered me a glass of water, I'd do anything for them right about now."

"We must resume our journey," he told her with mild urging. "If you would only allow me to carry the child, I'd—"

"No," she straightened up forcibly and wrapped her arms around the baby protectively. "I'm fine. Besides, he doesn't like you."

Spock could only shake his head. Whether it was stubbornness or determination, he couldn't help but be impressed by its power.

"So why don't they help us?" she asked wearily, as they resumed their walk. "Your precious Starfleet, I mean. You'd think someone would have spotted by now something was amiss."

"Starfleet is not in the habit of monitoring civilian fleet traffic."

"How about the civilians then?" she sounded desperate. "Shouldn't someone somewhere get bothered that a shuttle didn't come on time, that it disappeared? Didn't anyone notice?"

"I am certain they did," Spock said. "However, our pilot did not follow his own flight plan. It may take some time for them to locate us."

"But they will find us, won't they?" Arina pulled the baby closer instinctively. "Won't they, Mr. Spock? They can't just let us die?"

He didn't know what to tell her. A Vulcan girl of her age would have known better than to ask such an illogical question. But Arina wasn't Vulcan. Spock had found himself at a loss for words.

"I am certain they will... try to find us in time," he said finally. "It may happen."

The girl looked at him strangely and said nothing.

Their conversation began to ebb gradually. Even Spock found it difficult to keep talking in the dry, sterile air. Arina was fighting for breath with every step, and when they made a short stop in the shadow of several tall rocks, she had finally let Spock take the child. That allowed them to maintain the pace for some time, but that didn't last long. Spock admitted to himself that he was tired, and Arina was starting to look dead on her feet.

Her gait became slightly erratic; she asked no more questions and only gave one-syllable responses to those posed to her. She had taken the baby from Spock again only to give him back in several minutes. She repeated this routine so many times that in the end he stopped trying to talk her out of it and simply complied with her wishes. She was struggling, but he couldn't allow them to slow down. At one point, she slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow, letting him support her. But even so, she was staggering, nearly falling by the time they had finally reached the ridge Spock had spotted.

"What now?" Arina breathed out, sinking to her knees and clutching the baby protectively.

"There appears to be a cavern," Spock told her, observing the inner shell of the huge rock. "However, the way down may be too steep. Wait here."

"No way," she said, rising to her feet. She fell back to her knees immediately, but stubbornly got up again. "We're coming."

Spock looked at her warily, his gaze lingering on the small body she held so desperately in her arms. He felt a strange twinge within himself, a tugging, nauseating sensation which he couldn't explain. He looked into Arina's eyes, red and dry, looked over her wan, exhausted frame and nodded subtly.

"Very well. Follow me."

As excruciating as their journey across the overheated terrain had been, the downhill climb was pure torture. Spock would have abandoned the whole venture for sheer risk of breaking their necks, but even without a tricorder, he could sense the slightly elevated level of humidity in the air. He didn't know how deep they would have to go to reach water, if it was at all possible, but he did know that it was there, beneath them.

By the time they had reached the bottom of the unwelcoming natural well, neither felt like talking. The water was in the air, as they climbed down, teasing them mercilessly. Twice Spock had to catch the girl from falling; one time it was a particularly close call. She was the first to step onto the moist floor of the cave, where Spock had lowered her carefully before concluding his own descent.

"Water..." she muttered huskily, her eyes glued to the far side of the cavern. "Water..."

There was a small oval-shaped cavity filled with water. Arina rushed towards it, just as Spock sprang to the ground behind her. She slipped on the wet stone, making the last couple of feet on her knees. With an incoherent sound, she bent over and started to drink avidly, helping herself with a cupped hand.

Spock stood quietly beside the wall, watching her with a sinking sensation in his stomach. He dreaded what was to come, but didn't think of it. He didn't think at all.

Arina straightened up on her knees, untying the blanket so that she could give water to the baby. In the grayish, dim light of the cavern, Spock watched as she pressed her finger to the child's mouth, trying to open it.

"Wake up, little one," she coaxed in a singsong tone. "Have some water, sweetie. Come on, wake up. I know you want to. Open your eyes, baby. Here, drink this. Come on, open your eyes."

The child remained motionless, and Arina raised her voice, starting to sound hysterical.

"Open your eyes!" she cried again and again, waking a reverberating echo. "Open your eyes, little one! Open your eyes!"

Spock couldn't take his eyes off of her, much as he wanted to. She turned to him, her face contorted in horror.

"He's not breathing. Spock, _he's not breathing_!"

Spock knew that. He wasn't certain if the baby was still alive when they started their climb down, but at some point of their descent he had touched the child and knew then that the boy was dead. He didn't tell Arina for fear that her emotions would make her let go and fall. Now, as he was looking at her, he couldn't think of a single thing to do.

It surprised him to find himself walking towards her and kneeling at her side.

"Arina—"

"No!" She backed away from him abruptly. "No, don't tell me that! No!"

"He is dead," Spock said softly, his voice drowning in her loud wails, but he knew she heard him. "He died, Arina."

"Noooooh!" She whined, clutching the baby to her breast and rocking back and forth forcibly. "He didn't die! He couldn't!"

"He could not survive," Spock was speaking very gently. "The temperature alone was intolerable for one so young. Without water—"

"But I brought him here!" Arina yelled, beside herself. "I brought him to water! I didn't carry him all that way so that he'd die! I didn't! I didn't! He couldn't! He couldn't have diaaaaaaahed..."

"He could not have survived," Spock tried to reason with her, even knowing that reason wouldn't work. "If he stayed at the camp, he would have died hours ago. You gave your brother a chance—"

"He's not... my brother," she sobbed, lowering the baby to the ground, unable to tear her eyes from him.

Spock looked at her, stunned.

"He was not? But... you were together in the shuttle... you took care of him, I assumed..."

"Mrs. Sana was a social worker," Arina croaked, swallowing painfully. "She was taking him to his adoptive parents. I'm a volunteer, I was helping her. I only saw him for the first time this morning—last morning. I didn't even know his name..."

Spock was floored. He watched the sobbing girl without a single thought in his head. She cared for the child like a mother would, and her grief was so all-encompassing... Spock felt deeply troubled and he couldn't find the reason. He regretted the loss of life, certainly, but that wasn't it. He was so profoundly distressed, he couldn't focus.

"You knew," Arina said suddenly in a flat, menacing tone. She raised her head and looked up at Spock, her puffed eyes narrowing. "You knew, didn't you?"

"Arina, I—"

"You _knew_ and yet you did nothing, nothing!"

That was it, he realized abruptly. He knew the child was dying and he couldn't help him. He tried to make them go as quickly as possible, pushing Arina, tired as she was, knowing they were fighting against time and losing, inevitably losing.

"There wasn't anything I could have done," he whispered.

"Liar!" she screamed. "You lied to me! Everything you said, all that time you were lying to me! You killed my baby!"

She jumped at him, aiming for his eyes, and they rolled over the sharp wet stones. Like a wild cat, she tried to scratch him to the bones, attacking his face with her nails, kicking him wherever she could reach. Spock fought to control their motion, wary of her cracked ribs, of the hostile surface beneath them. He could feel her uncontrollable animal rage, unreasonable, growing on the deepest, senseless instinct, and it was intoxicating, crushing his defenses. He could feel his face bleeding, his eyes only miraculously intact. After what seemed like ages, he managed to catch both her wrists and pin them to the ground at her sides.

She wriggled violently and, infuriated at the secure way he was holding her, suddenly bolted upright and bit him on the side of his neck hard. Blood poured out of the torn artery and onto her face, and she gasped and tried to turn away. Spock held her determinedly until after a few moments her body went limp within his grasp. He let go of her then slowly, and she curled up on the ground, not moving, ceaseless tears drawing lines in her green-painted face.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, almost inaudibly. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."

Spock stood up, pressing his fingers to the wound. Only then did he realize he was shaking. He reached for his control determinedly and for the first time in almost ten years, it failed him. He tried again, reaching deeper within himself, his whole being pulsing with effort, and it came to him finally, mercifully allowing him to tune down his physical reactions.

He wasn't staggering, but neither did he move with his usual fluid grace, as he walked towards the pool of water. He sat down on the ground heavily, and with some difficulty tore a band of cloth from his shirt to dress his neck. His hands weren't quivering, but his fingers were stiff, incompliant.

He checked his inner time sense. They had less than eight hours before sunset. There was no time to be lost. He must hurry back, if there was to be any hope for any of them. He must get up, move, he must hurry.

He looked at the small puddle at his side, turning cold and rigid, and he looked at another one, a larger one, trembling and whimpering on the wet stones. And all he wanted to do was hide his face in his hands and stop being.


	4. 4 The NoWin Scenario

--

**4.**** The No-Win Scenario**

--

Spock didn't remember much of his way back. He was aware intellectually of all the actions he had taken. Drank some water. Pulled Arina to her feet and washed his blood off her face. Filled the canisters he had brought with water. Tucked the body of the child into the blanket and put him gingerly into a niche in the rock. Climbed back to the surface, practically tugging Arina all the way up.

The girl was conscious but unresponsive. She walked if he took her hand and towed her after him, but as she was barely lifting her feet off the ground, it was clearly unacceptable. The moment they stopped, she fainted. Spock couldn't afford to wait for her to regain consciousness, and even if she did, she was exhausted. He picked her up in his arms and resumed his walk, grateful that he had thought of tying the canisters together with a crude rope made of someone's clothing. He could now carry them over his shoulder, leaving his hands free.

He did not remember much of the way. He was walking, not thinking. Just walking. His eyes never lifted off his and Arina's tracks. Time seemed to stretch and bounce back in leaps. He nearly walked past the camp, in fact, he would have, if they didn't called out to him. Only then did he realize he was back, and the sun was still up in the sky.

Low, though. It was hanging low.

Strangely, the voices seemed to have had a waking effect on him, strengthening his weakened ties with reality. The canisters were snatched off his shoulder in a blur. Spock didn't watch. He lowered Arina carefully to the ground and spoke, not looking at anyone.

"Get her some water."

The silence that followed his order was blazing. Spock didn't recognize his own voice, so much menace rang in it. He straightened up slowly and turned to face them. They were all staring at him as if he was some sort of apparition. No, not all of them.

"Where is Lieutenant Wilson?"

One of the women, Telma, pointed behind him with her chin. Spock glanced back and walked to the outstretched figure immediately. The Lieutenant was breathing, but he was unconscious. Two dismantled communicators were lying in the sand near his elbow.

"Water," Spock said. "Now."

Still in perfect silence, Telma brought him some in a small piece of twisted metal.

"Give some to Vaz also," Spock told her, not taking his eyes off Wilson. "The girl. The man over there, too."

"He's dead," she said quietly.

He looked her in the eye calmly.

"Then he does not require water anymore."

She nodded and went to complete the task, while Spock poured water, drop by drop, into Wilson's mouth which he kept open with his other hand. The Lieutenant swallowed, muttered something incoherent and tried to shrink away from Spock's grip, but Spock held him fast, making sure he'd drink his share. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Telma bringing water to Arina, who seemed to come around, and then to Vaz.

The temperature started to fall rapidly as the sun was inclining further to the horizon. Spock was sitting outside the camp's invisible perimeter, his knees tugged to his chest. Some time ago he had cut down their makeshift tent and told the others to sit closely together under it for warmth. He did not join them, and they didn't ask. He gazed at the darkening skies, his thoughts splashing lightly in his mind like fishes on shoals.

There wasn't anything else he could do, and what he had done was pointless. He brought them water. So? The child died. The other man died. Vaz and Wilson were close to dying. And none of them stood any chance once the sun went down. He might have just as easily not gone anywhere. There was no telling even if the water he had brought had alleviated their cravings or prolonged their suffering. The result remained unaffected by his action. He could not think of a way to sway the situation. He should have been able to find one, but he couldn't.

There was nothing he could do.

He couldn't tell how many hours had passed before he saw two bright flashes in the sky, and then two shuttles landed twenty feet in front of the camp. He couldn't tell if he was frozen or half-frozen by that time. He only knew he couldn't move. Which was strange, because he remembered later he was in the pilot's cabin, talking to the captain of the rescue team. He wasn't sure what the conversation was about. Location of the bodies? Circumstances of the crash? He wasn't sure.

He wasn't sure when he slipped into some kind of euphoric trance, either, watching his own actions from somewhere high above, not controlling them. It was a most peculiar sensation; he had not experienced that one before. There was certain danger involved in it, but he couldn't quite grasp what it was, the thought was elusive. He drifted further and further away, losing ties and bounds. The last thing he remembered clearly was a familiar face...

…

"_Be careful and don't stay out long, Spock. Your father will be most displeased if you are late for supper again."_

"_I will be punctual, Mother. I will come back on time."_

…

…_on time…_

…

He woke up in the brig, feeling that his body had been taken care of. He felt good, if mildly confused. He knew he wasn't on board any kind of vessel, but there was no mistaking a Starfleet facility. Must be a Starbase, most likely the one on Centauri Prime. Spock discovered a tray with food and a pile of clothes on the floor next to his bunk. He dressed quickly, but one glance over the offered meal made his stomach squirm painfully.

The realization gave him a pause. It was his usual reaction to human medication. Had he been sedated? And why was he here? Had he done something terrible without remembering it? Spock frowned, concentrating. It did not seem likely. But he was here...

Mercifully, he wasn't left in the dark for long. He heard someone entering the brig and exchanging greetings with the Security officer on duty. Spock rose to his feet a moment before a familiar figure of Lieutenant Andreas Lysacek, the _Southampton's_ First Officer, appeared in the doorway, glimmering behind the forcefield.

"Lieutenant," Spock made an involuntary step forward.

Lysacek smiled, raising a restraining hand.

"Hold up a second, Spock, I know you have a lot of questions. I'll explain everything in a moment."

He deactivated the forcefield and motioned for Spock to come out. The Vulcan did so warily, and Lysacek grinned at him reassuringly.

"You're satisfied?" he asked the officer on duty, who was studying a padd.

"Yes, sir," the man snapped to attention. "You're free to go, Ensign."

"Thank you," Spock inclined his head, still puzzled.

He followed Lysacek out. As soon as they cleared the detention area, the First Officer turned to him with a cheerful grin.

"You're hungry, Ensign?"

"No, sir."

"Too bad, I was going to have lunch and thought you might join me. Some tea perhaps, Mr. Spock? They have Vulcan blends here in abundance."

At the mentioning of tea, Spock's mouth watered.

"That would be acceptable, sir."

"Great," Lysacek nodded. "Let's go."

He led Spock to a quiet café on the Starbase promenade. They placed an order quickly, and Lysacek caught Spock's patient, but clearly questioning gaze. He sighed.

"Shoot."

"Why was I detained?" Spock asked at once.

The Lieutenant looked mildly uncomfortable.

"There was a minor... misunderstanding. There was a man in your party, who said you assaulted him. And then, that young girl..."

"Arina Dale."

"That's right. Well, when the rescue team came, you were all pretty much out of it." Lysacek shifted uneasily in his seat. "They found your blood under her fingernails, and your face was all scratched. They thought you tried to, well, take advantage of her."

Spock stared at him, eyes wide with shock.

"How could anyone think I would do such a thing? Why?"

"Because people do all sorts of freak things when they think they're about to die and have nothing to lose."

"But I—"

Lysacek sighed.

"Look, Spock, this was all a misunderstanding, okay? Turns out the captain of the rescue team doesn't like Vulcans very much, scared of them I think. And you looked, well... scary. Covered in dried blood and whatnot. You made a bad impression, that's all."

"I see," Spock said, though he clearly didn't. He was far from ever being able to fathom it.

"Yes, well," Lysacek looked away briefly. "As soon as people started to come around, it all cleared up. The girl was very helpful."

"How is she?" Spock asked, refusing to comment on the illogical presumption.

"As fine as could be expected," Lysacek assured him. "We contacted her parents, they're on their way. In the meantime, she's seeing a counselor. Her prognosis is good."

"That is... good news," Spock inclined his head slightly.

"Indeed it is. You might also be interested to know that your Tellarite friend, Vaz, will make a full recovery. And Lieutenant Wilson has already been certified fit for duty."

"That is gratifying to know, sir."

"Speaking of Wilson," Lysacek said, nodding to the waiter who had brought their drinks. "He recommends a commendation for you. But there isn't going to be one," he added, meeting Spock's eyes squarely. "It's not about you, but Starfleet generally doesn't commend officers when people were lost during a mission. It's like... mauvais ton."

"But how can he even recommend it?" Spock asked, completely befuddled. "It wasn't our mission."

"Yes, it was, Ensign," Lysacek replied quietly. "You were there. Therefore it was. How can I explain this?" He frowned, thinking. "Do you recall the text of your Starfleet Oath? Sorry, dumb question, of course you do. Quote the third line for me please."

"—_to protect the Federation and its citizens from any threat may it come from without or within_," Spock recited.

"That's right," the First Officer nodded. "Starfleet was designed as an instrument of exploration, but one should never forget that protecting the Federation is one of its core functions. It's not paraded, because it's kind of... assumed. Wherever you go, Ensign, whatever you do, as long as you wear this uniform—and mostly even when you don't—everything that happens around you is your responsibility. If anything bad happens, it's Starfleet's responsibility whether we were involved or not. That's what it means to wear the uniform. That's what you signed up for."

The arrival of the waiter with Lysacek's lunch interrupted him. Once the man was gone, the Lieutenant continued, seemingly uninterested in his food.

"Did you take the Kobayashi Maru test at the Academy, Ensign?"

"No, sir."

"But you've heard of it?"

"Of course. No one has ever beaten it. It is known as a no-win scenario."

"Then why is it there at all?"

"It is considered to be a test of character, sir. One can not defeat death. It is the way one faces it that matters."

"The way one faces it that matters," Lysacek repeated pensively. "I'd say you just lived through a no-win scenario, Mr. Spock."

The Vulcan blinked. Lysacek nodded.

"Oh yes, the resemblance is remarkable. The people you were responsible for were going to die, and there was nothing you could have done about it. Only, unlike the Academy test, those were real people who were dying on your hands. Two of them did die. Two more likely would have if you didn't bring that water."

"But sir," Spock felt obliged to object. "The test does not contain a possibility of a rescue. We were rescued. I did not beat the test."

"I never said you did," Lysacek smiled at him knowingly and a touch sadly. "But you said it yourself, Ensign, it is a test of character. It is the way one faces the inevitable death that tells us what kind of person he or she is. And I can tell you that I like the person you turned out to be."

Spock pondered his words for a while, but shook his head finally.

"I am not certain I understand, sir."

Lysacek chuckled good-naturedly.

"You will." He suddenly winked at the Vulcan. "Your tea is getting cold."

Spock sipped the warm drink automatically, while the Lieutenant tucked into his meal.

"You know," Lysacek said after a while. "Your tour with us ends in three months."

"Three months four days and—"

"Yes, yes, I should have said approximately," Lysacek grinned. "My point is, I believe you need some time to think things over. I'm being promoted in about that time myself and I'm going to be posted on the _de Gaulle_. To be honest, I was planning on taking you with me."

At Spock's startled blink, he grinned again.

"Oh, I'm very fond of you, Spock. I shouldn't be telling you this before the official crew evaluation, but I can't imagine someone like you being spoiled by praise. I am very pleased with your work. I have never had a more meticulous, inventive and curious assistant science officer on board. So I was going to suggest you apply for a position on the _de Gaulle_ as well, I know there will be some open. But we'd be mostly assigned to carry political and diplomatic envoys, and I would imagine you'd rather be on a deep space mission somewhere, away from us all, emotional humans."

"Sir, I do not require any special treatment—"

Lysacek frowned.

"I'm not giving you any, Ensign. I'm doing my job in making sure Starfleet gets a better officer. There is no shame in admitting that you need time. Facing the ultimate defeat is a tough ride even within the Academy simulator. Only there, no matter how engaged you are in outsmarting your enemy, you always remember somewhere in the back of your mind that it's only a test. And when you lose everyone and everything, you still know that the lights are going to turn on in the end of the exercise, and every 'dead' person will rise to their feet, and there will be no real casualties, no harm. It's not like that in real life, is it?"

"No, sir," Spock replied quietly. "It is not."

"No, it's not. You can't cheat death, you can't fool it. The people you lost will not rise from the dead. That is the definition of a real no-win scenario, Ensign. It's going to take time for you to sort it all out, to come to grips with what it says about you." His tone lowered slightly, as he added, "It's going to take time for you to forgive yourself for those deaths."

Spock didn't answer. His thoughts were in turmoil, he couldn't begin to bring them into any kind of order. Lysacek shook his head softly.

"There's a new science vessel, the _Artemis_, only just commissioned. It will launch in some two months or so I'm told. I understand Captain Daniels is making inquiries throughout the Sector Zero vessels about young officers who may be recommended to him. In fact, I have a communiqué from him on my desk this very moment. If that is your preference, I can recommend you to him."

Spock couldn't come up with a coherent answer if his life depended on it. Utter embarrassment, pain, confusion fed by several different sources, shame that he was betraying so much, all warred within him, and he was the one losing that battle.

"Sir, I do not... that is, I would, but... is that all right?" he finished helplessly.

Lysacek chuckled softly.

"It's perfectly all right, Mr. Spock. Not every captain in the fleet likes to deal with the Personnel Office. Some prefer to make their own choices wherever possible. Captain Daniels has an excellent reputation for coaching junior officers. Plus, he's a scientist himself, an exobiologist, if memory serves. I'm sure you could benefit from serving under him."

"That sounds most agreeable, sir," Spock admitted frankly, summoning enough resolve to at least maintain a stoic façade. "But I am not certain if I am... qualified enough for this position."

Lysacek had to actually draw blood from his tongue not to snap. He willed his irritation down and smiled dryly.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that, Ensign."

"Sir?"

"You've just suggested that _I'm_ not qualified enough to make correct evaluations of my officers."

"No, sir!" Spock shook his head emphatically. "I never meant—"

"Good, I'm glad to hear it. Anyway, as I said, the _Artemis_ launches in two and a half months. I'm sure Captain Caroux wouldn't object to letting you disembark a little early. If that is all right with you that is?"

"Yes, sir," Spock said hurriedly. "I apologize, sir. It was... unexpected."

"I know. It's settled then." Lysacek tapped his lips with a napkin and pushed his plate away, looking suddenly all business. "We take off at twenty-four hundred, and you're not scheduled to resume your duties until oh-eight tomorrow. There will be a memorial service here tonight for everyone who died in this crash. You might consider attending."

"Thank you for informing me, sir," Spock said somberly. "I will pay my respects."

Lysacek studied him silently for a moment.

"It's not obligatory, Spock. I know Vulcans grieve in their own way."

"That is true, sir. But I believe I must be there," Spock amended quietly.

Lysacek nodded, approval showing clearly in his eyes.

"I won't hold you up then. See you on board."

Spock rose to his feet, still somewhat dazed and inclined his head respectfully.

"Thank you, sir."

--

Spock walked along the corridors of the Starbase confidently, but without any apparent direction. Assigned to Centauri run, the _Southampton_ had often orbited Centauri Prime, and Spock had come to know this Starbase well enough to find his way blindfolded. He wasn't sure where he was going. He was just—walking.

While his appearance remained unchanged, his inner thoughts were in turmoil. He desperately required time to meditate, but he realized he would not be able to achieve any kind of concentration with his mind in such an agitated state. He had to tune it down a little, before he could even hope to make a successful attempt.

Lieutenant Lysacek's words bothered him. Assuming this experience could be regarded as living through a no-win scenario, what good could anyone see in Spock's actions? There was no way he could sway the situation. It was illogical to even try, and yet he did just that. All he achieved was proving that he could act as illogically as any human. Was that what Lysacek approved of? Spock could not imagine that.

He came to a stop at the railing and looked down at the lower level, buzzing with activity. Life was surrounding him, pulsing around him, washing over him. Not entering. He was alive, but realizing that logically, he couldn't feel it. He didn't feel he was part of it anymore. He was numb. Would the feeling ever return? Or would he stay forever on that dead world, carrying it with him wherever he went?

More illogic. Spock winced, shaking his head at himself. Lieutenant Lysacek was right in one thing, Spock did need time. The person he had been for so long he could obviously be no longer. Who was he then? Who was he becoming? He had no answers. And while the scientist in him urged him to go in search of them immediately, someone else within him, someone he couldn't quite recognize was begging him to proceed with caution.

Spock dismissed them both. He would not solve anything by splitting himself further. It was time to look for some integrity. His commanding officer believed he had showed it. Was he right? Spock didn't know. He could only be certain of one thing now. He'd spend numerous years to come trying to find out.

--

_In __little more than a year, while serving aboard the _Artemis_, someone would mention to Spock that a cadet at Starfleet Academy whose name they didn't quite catch had beaten the Kobayashi Maru test by reprogramming the simulator. His colleagues would be impressed by this audacious solution and would discuss it for quite some time. Spock would not offer an opinion until asked, and then he would only shrug mildly and say that real life could not be reprogrammed. _

_Nearly twenty __years later, Admiral James T. Kirk would sit alone in his quarters on the refitted _Enterprise_ and ponder those words he had never heard. For the first time in his life, he would be facing a real no-win scenario. And he would be left with no choice but to believe in it. _

_--_

Fin


End file.
